


Mostly Wrong (But Sometimes Right)

by itallstartedwithdefenestration



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M, spoiler alert for im3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itallstartedwithdefenestration/pseuds/itallstartedwithdefenestration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have happened at the end of Iron Man 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mostly Wrong (But Sometimes Right)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers and whatnot~

Pepper falls, and for a moment all Tony can see in his mind is the way he fell from the wormhole over New York City, the way the sky closed up around him as he came crashing back to earth among the wreckage. _“Pepper!”_ he screams after her, and rage and grief slice through his already broken chest and he’s not thinking, not seeing anything but red when he turns and faces Killian, standing opposite him on the bridge. The bastard is shirtless, Extremis glowing beneath his skin like fire, and Tony charges, his suit flying out to meet him as he runs, and leaps, and falls, grappling with Killian the whole way down.

He ends up knocking his head on the concrete and passing out, and when he wakes up Killian is dead, a pile of ash and reddened skin.

“About fucking time,” Tony grunts, and then, in his earpiece, “Jarvis, any sign of Pepper?”

“Ms. Potts did not survive the fall,” Jarvis informs him. 

“Well, no shit.” A flare of irritation crops up in Tony’s chest behind the arc reactor, and he has to work at reminding himself that Jarvis isn’t really alive; that he’s only informing Tony of statistics. “I mean, where is her body? She. I need to.” He takes a deep breath, fighting back the anxiety he can feel crawling over his skin. “It’d be right if she got buried.”

“Like most of the wreckage, Ms. Potts’ remains are mostly unsalvageable,” Jarvis says.

“Oh, great,” Tony snaps. “We got to save the fucking President of the United States but we didn’t get to save her,” and then his legs give out from under him and he has to grab hold of a swinging metal bar to keep from falling back into the pile of Killian’s skin and bones.

“Sir,” Jarvis says, “I can map out and direct a route to your Tower in New York City so that you can have a place to rest,” but Tony’s shaking his head already, drawing a hand down his face:

“No, gotta… gotta stay away from Manhattan. For at least another decade. Set me up at a hotel somewhere. Anywhere not in Miami.”

“Yes, sir.”

*

It turns out to be a Ritz-Carlton, and even if Tony’s a little wary of spending that much money just for an overnight stay, he finds that he’s easily able to overlook it in light of the fact that his room is actually a suite. With a hot tub. And a refrigerator. And a closet full of cookies and candy, like the scene from _Home Alone 2_ when Kevin goes to the Plaza Hotel.

Tony’s just scrubbed most of the blood and dirt off his skin in the hot tub and is relaxing on his bed with a glass of wine and some mind-numbing reality show or another on low, when there’s a quiet knock at the door.

“Jarvis,” Tony says into his earpiece, the one he always has in, for just in case. “Who knows I’m here besides Rhodey?” Because Rhodey had already told Tony he was going back to his home in Malibu for the night, and he’d probably be sleeping until late tomorrow afternoon.

“I haven’t informed another living soul of your whereabouts, sir.”

“Uh.” Drawing his eyebrows over the bridge of his nose, puzzled, Tony sets his wine glass aside, tugs the bathrobe a little tighter around his waist, and walks over to answer the door.

He nearly falls over in shock when he sees it’s Loki. Loki, demigod, the one who demolished New York City and most of Manhattan and quite a bit of the subway system; Loki, who is supposed to be in Asgard “answering for his crimes”; Loki, who, one night not long before he left, had taken Tony aside in his Tower and fucked him senseless against a wall—something Tony has resolutely _not_ been thinking about ever since.

“Anthony,” Loki says. “May I come in?”

“Uh,” Tony says again, and then steps aside. Loki walks past him, arms folded across his chest, an expression on his face Tony can’t quite decipher—if it were anyone else, he’d say it was sadness, but Loki’s not that kind of person. Or god. Whatever. 

“I was informed of what happened,” Loki tells him, sliding his fingers over the built-in bar next to the television set. “Between you and the Mandarin, that is.” He glances over at Tony, frowning a little. “You lost her, didn’t you?”

Tony nods. He’s still a little too shaken up to speak. 

Loki walks over to him, then, green eyes thrown into sharp focus by the emerald of his shirt. He looks like shit, if Tony’s being honest—hollow cheeked and pale (paler than usual, anyway) and greasy-haired, the corners of his mouth pinched, lines forming around his eyes. “I know how much she meant to you,” the god says, putting one long-fingered hand over Tony’s arc reactor and staring down at him. 

A muscle twitches in Tony’s jaw. “She was my best friend,” he says.

Something almost amused flickers in Loki’s gaze at that. “Not your lover?” 

“Not your business,” Tony retorts, and he steps out of Loki’s grasp and walks to the bar, grabbing another bottle of Chardonnay and holding it out. “Want?”

“I thank you, no.” Loki walks over and sits on the edge of Tony’s mattress, and Tony doesn’t actively try to hide the way his eyes fall down the line of Loki’s body, searching out the lean, whip-tight muscles, and the way his ankles cross when he settles himself down, one foot idly folded over the other. “Midgardian spirits have never done much for my palate.”

“Yeah, all right, Shakespeare,” Tony grunts, pouring himself a glass, and he doesn’t miss Loki’s soft laugh. They’re both quiet for a while, but it’s an amiable silence, and Tony finds himself sitting beside Loki after a bit, the glass of wine half-empty in his right hand. He looks down at Loki’s wrist, bent against the sheets, and sees the rough burns where the handcuffs were. He wants to touch them; wants to ask if they still hurt. If Loki’s been through as much these past few weeks as Tony has.

Instead, he finds himself saying, “I could’ve stopped him, you know. The Mandarin. If I’d listened thirteen years ago—”

“Anthony—”

“Could’ve gotten him on my side. If I’d just listened to his fucking business idea. Like I said I was going to. Wouldn’t have been that difficult to go up on the roof for five fucking seconds.”

“Anthony, don’t.”

“And then he wouldn’t have fucking gone insane, and basically stolen that girl’s idea—and then Extremis would’ve never. It would’ve just stayed small. Wouldn’t have gone and become a global fucking catastrophe.” 

“Stop,” Loki says, and he says it firmly enough that Tony does stop, but it’s not until Loki waves his hand and produces a handkerchief that Tony realizes he’s crying, tears splashing into the glass of wine at his side. He sniffs, hard, and takes a long drink, draining the liquid away.

“You cannot do that to yourself, Stark,” Loki continues after a bit, voice quiet. “You couldn’t have done anything to stop this man. He would have done what he did regardless of your interference—maybe even turned you into a robot himself, given half the chance. Don’t you think he would’ve loved to have gotten his hands on you when you needed healing from that shrapnel?” and all Tony can do is stare at Loki, listening to him talk, and to the sound of his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. 

“Mistakes are going to be made, Anthony. But they aren’t the end of the world.” Loki reaches up and touches Tony’s cheek, running his finger over the cuts still open and sore on his skin, and leans in until their foreheads are pressed together. “Don’t be afraid of yourself, or the potential you have,” he whispers, and Tony squeezes his eyes shut and exhales shakily, reaching out blindly with his free hand until he finds Loki’s, and then he holds on tight.


End file.
